The survival of two trees, believed to be the oldest on campus, makes almost no sense. For at least 151 years,聽a hemlock and its next door neighbor, a red oak,聽have been growing closer together than probably any arborist would have recommended. On the new interactive historic map of 乐播传媒, they show up as two circles, touching.

Their branches overlapping in places, the hemlock and red oak are boxed in by buildings and structures 鈥� the flying staircase up to Ladd Library sweeps within about six feet of them 鈥� and are so near to Coram Library (completed in 1902), Carnegie Science Building (completed in 1912), and Ladd (completed in 1973) that it is a wonder they weren鈥檛 considered an impediment to any of those construction jobs and cut down. The trees are a little like Carl Fredricksen鈥檚 house in the 2009 Pixar movie Up, enveloped by growth, although in the trees鈥� case, not threatened by anything but age. 

The historic map, a project of the Muskie Archives, debuted last fall, but was only viewable while using campus WiFi. It鈥檚 now available from anywhere with an internet connection, and in addition to giving historical insights into every building on campus over time, ivy stones, memorials and class gifts, it includes the option of exploring the significant trees of 乐播传媒. Courtesy of the research skills (and deep curiosity) of Sam Howes, the reference and digital initiatives archivist at the Muskie Archives, anyone can browse the history of these and 19 other campus trees through photographs, images, and captions. 

The archivists found the first evidence of the hemlock and red oak on a map of Lewiston and Auburn created in 1875 by an unnamed artist and made available for sale in 1876 by J. J. (John Joseph) Stoner, a publisher based in Madison, Wis. It鈥檚 a bird鈥檚 eye view, which the Maine Historical Society allowed Muskie to reproduce for the historic maps project. How the artist got this view is a wonder: 鈥淚 believe what actually happened is he would go up in a balloon,鈥� Howes said. Presumably the daring artist sketched like mad while in the balloon basket. 

The map鈥檚 precision makes it highly valuable to the Muskie Archives and the historic mapping project, which Howes and his colleagues Caitlin Lampman, the education and engagement archivist, and Pat Webber, the college archivist, began working on nearly two years ago, with a digital assist from Jake Paris, senior web developer and designer. 鈥淭his is the only map from this time period that is accurate for the 乐播传媒 campus,鈥� Howes said. 鈥淏asically every other map drawn at this time showed the aspirational buildings that they were going to build,鈥� such as a twin to Parker, on the other side of Hathorn. 鈥淎 lot of those maps actually show it as though that building is there, even though it never happened.鈥�

The hemlock and oak were sketched in ink as a tiny duo in an otherwise empty field, and in fine detail, the shape of a hemlock is distinctive. The two trees are still visible to anyone standing in front of Hathorn Hall, but in that era would have been essentially the only things visible in an otherwise unobstructed view of the Maine State Seminary building, aka John Bertram Hall, which was built in 1868.

Howes found a few key written records of the trees, first in a 1913 interview with Professor Jonathan Stanton, who believed that these trees had been natural growth. A November 1933 edition of the 乐播传媒 Alumnus included a lengthy feature by William H. Sawyer Jr., Class of 1913, who taught biology at 乐播传媒 from 1916 to 1962, titled 鈥淥ur Campus Trees.鈥� 

鈥淥f the original trees on campus,鈥� Sawyer wrote, 鈥渋f there are any, the red oak and hemlock at the corner of the Carnegie Science Building, three large elms on Campus Avenue, and the mixed hardwood and evergreen growth adjacent to the heating plant and 鈥楲ake Andrews鈥� are probably the only survivors.鈥� 

The Muskie Archives has added images of the trees whenever possible (some trees noted on the map live on only in memory, but there are some lush vintage photographs of the elm planted by the Class of 1870, which came down likely after the 1950s). In addition to that 1875 bird鈥檚 eye view, there is a very early photograph from 1890 that shows the hemlock and red oak, and another taken from Mount David in 1903, after Coram was built, that shows the oak beginning to develop its sprawl and surpassing the hemlock in height. A photo from 1910, taken from John Bertram, shows them from the other side. 

The historic campus map project has been almost two years in the making, but it may never be 鈥渄one.鈥� That鈥檚 because little tidbits of knowledge, some in the form of images, others written documentation, or accounts from 乐播传媒 people, continue to come in on a regular basis. Crowd-sourcing will keep the historical map, like the campus itself, ever-evolving.

Additionally, there is the fact that Howes keeps finding new rabbit holes to go down. He鈥檚 spent a lot of time in archives of Lewiston papers, The 乐播传媒 Student, and other publications. 鈥淎nd then you find stuff accidentally,鈥� he said. Howes is more than okay with that; nuggets of information worth adding to the map are true treasures. 鈥淚鈥檓 actually in the middle of scanning a bunch of things now that I鈥檓 like, 鈥極h, OK, I need to add that in,鈥欌�� Howes said, sounding utterly delighted. 

Thirty-nine years ago, even a hurricane couldn鈥檛 stay Jimmy Carter from a self-appointed duty: coming to 乐播传媒 to dedicate a new archive in honor of his good friend, Edmund Muskie 鈥�36.

As Hurricane Gloria roared up the East Coast in late September 1985, threatening to thwart the former president’s trip to Maine, Carter’s reaction was, basically, 鈥渂ring it on.鈥�

鈥淣othing short of an absolute national catastrophe…could have prevented my coming to 乐播传媒 College,鈥� Carter told an audience of more than 2,700 in Merrill Gymnasium on Sept. 28, 1985, during a dedication convocation for the official repository of Muskie鈥檚 papers, now known as the Edmund S. Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library.

Carter died today at age 100 at his home in Plains, Ga.

In 1985, Carter also used the occasional to speak warmly about another 乐播传媒 friend, civil rights leader Benjamin E. Mays, Class of 1920, who had died a year earlier. 鈥淚 want to thank this college for making it possible for Dr. Benjamin Mays to overcome the handicaps of white supremacy and racism to take his place among the prominent leaders of our nation and our world.鈥�

In his address, Carter described Muskie, a deeply admired colleague and friend who served as Carter鈥檚 secretary of state from May 1980 to January 1981, as representing 鈥渋n a superb way the greatness of America鈥檚 character.鈥� Muskie, he said, was 鈥渁 man who had a strong and beneficial impact on my own life and on that of the nation.鈥�

In Merrill Gym, the speakers鈥� platform was chock full of dignitaries. Maine Gov. Joseph Brennan was there, as was the entire Maine congressional delegation: representatives Olympia Snowe and John McKernan, and senators William Cohen and George Mitchell. Also on the platform was Frank Coffin 鈥�40, who, as a federal judge, swore in Muskie as Carter鈥檚 new secretary of state in 1980. (Carter had visited 乐播传媒 once before, giving a campaign speech in 1975.)

As if a visit to 乐播传媒 by a former president didn鈥檛 create enough hullabaloo and hubbub, there was Hurricane Gloria. To skirt the East Coast鈥揾ugging storm, Carter first flew to Syracuse, N.Y., where the local newspaper photographed him walking through a hotel lobby in jogging shorts after a seven-mile run around Onondaga Lake.

Carter arrived on campus to the sounds of chainsaws. From early morning, 乐播传媒 community members, including students, took to the campus to clear fallen limbs before the big weekend鈥檚 events, which included traditional Back to 乐播传媒 festivities. Then-treasurer Bernie Carpenter wielded one of the saws and later wrote a thank-you letter to The 乐播传媒 Student. 鈥淲ithout that extra help [from students] our campus could not have looked as great as it did on Back to 乐播传媒 Weekend for our alumni and honored guests.鈥�

During the convocation, Carter received an honorary Doctor of Laws degree, and later had a tet-a-tet with then Dean of the Faculty Carl Straub about Straub鈥檚 degree citation. The two met up, by chance, at the foot of the driveway to the President鈥檚 House as they arrived from different directions to attend a lunch hosted by 乐播传媒 President Hedley Reynolds. 

As Straub and Carter turned to walk up the steep driveway, Carter suddenly took the dean鈥檚 arm 鈥渁nd stopped my walk,鈥� recalled Straub, who died in 2019. 鈥淗e said he wanted to talk.鈥�

Straub, who was a religion professor who would return to the 乐播传媒 classroom as the college鈥檚 first Griffith Professor of Environmental Studies, had piqued Carter鈥檚 interest by invoking the environment twice in his citation for Carter. 

First, he noted that 鈥渢here is more than the Appalachian Trail which binds Maine to Georgia,鈥� such as a 鈥渃ommon heritage which rises from the simple decency of our people: We share a sense of what is good and just and beautiful.鈥� Second, the citation praised Carter for, among other achievements as the 39th U.S. president, the 鈥渇oresight to protect our natural environments, to preserve American wilderness.鈥� 

Carter, recalled Straub, wanted to talk about the Appalachian Trail. Not surprising: In 1978, Carter signed a law giving the federal government more power to protect, expand, and improve the trail.

Straub said he took a moment to thank Carter for his leadership in establishing the Denali National Park. (In 1978, Carter used executive authority to designate 56 million acres of Alaska wilderness as federally protected national monuments and in 1980 signed a law bringing the former McKinley National Park into a larger protected area named Denali National Park and Preserve.)

It was a proud if surreal moment for Straub, having a 10-minute private audience with a former president 鈥� 鈥渨hile dignitaries waited at the top of the driveway to welcome [Carter].鈥� 

Carter鈥檚 friendship with and admiration for Ed Muskie is well-chronicled in the public record, thanks in large part to the Muskie Archives. It shines through in the famous photo of the 5-foot-10 Carter hugging the 6-foot-4 Muskie during the archives dedication. 

And it comes through in quieter ways, like the April 1981 photo showing Carter, decked out in fly-fishing gear and smiling that famous Carter grin, holding a big brown trout. On the back of the photo, which Carter sent to Muskie, he wrote, 鈥淥n the opening day of the season, with my new Ed Muskie self-casting rod, I caught a lot of smaller ones, plus three over 18 inches. Thanks again. I鈥檓 sure the Maine fishing will be even better. Jimmy.鈥� 

While less well-known, the late president鈥檚 relationship with Mays was no less vital or authentic. For one, it reflected a shared Southern upbringing, wrote Damian Dominguez in a March 2023 story about the Mays鈥揅arter friendship for the Greenwood (S.C.) Index-Journal. 

鈥淭he two shared a common sensibility: Carter grew up a rural, Southern, Baptist farmer; Mays was the son of freed slaves who became sharecroppers and grew up a Baptist in rural Epworth,鈥� Dominguez reported. 

Carter and Mays probably got to know one another around 1970, Dominguez suggested. At the time, Mays, who had retired as president of Morehouse in 1967, was presiding over the Atlanta Board of Education 鈥� just as the federal courts ordered the desegregation of Georgia public schools 鈥� and Carter was ramping up his successful campaign for governor.

Mays pointed to Carter’s inaugural address as Georgia’s governor in 1971, when Carter said that “the time for racial discrimination is over.”

Within a few years, Mays, who had been advising U.S. presidents on racial issues since the 1950s, starting with Harry Truman, would announce his support of Carter for president, a decision that Mays explained during a talk at 乐播传媒 in February 1977 during Black Arts Week. Then age 82, Mays spoke in the Chapel (and was introduced by Marcus Bruce ’77, then a 乐播传媒 senior and now the Charles A. Dana Professor of Religious Studies).

Mays explained that he had been getting letters asking why he had supported Carter’s run for president in 1976, so he took a moment to explain his reasons. Mays pointed to Carter’s inaugural address as Georgia’s governor in 1971, when Carter said that “the time for racial discrimination is over.”

From that moment, Mays took time to “study his record, read what he said and what his mother said about Jimmy’s early years. At a time when Negroes went to the back door [of a] white house… Jimmy Carter’s black friends went in and out of of the Carter house through the front door.”

When Carter served in the Navy, Mays told his Chapel audience, his voice sounding still strong on an old cassette tape recording, “one of his friends was Black, and when he visited Jimmy Carter’s home, he was treated as a man and was a guest in the Carter home. So when he made his statement about racism in his inaugural address [as] governor, I had reasons to believe.”

Mays went on to recount the various actions Carter took as governor, including integrating the powerful Board of Regents, which controls policy for Georgia’s public university system. “He meant what he said,” Mays concluded.

After Mays’ death on March 28, 1984, Carter praised him as 鈥渕y personal friend, my constructive critic, and my close adviser.鈥�

Mays, known as the “Schoolmaster of the Movement” for mentoring Martin Luther King Jr. and other civil rights leaders, told the Chapel audience that in supporting Carter he was also supporting his own life’s work, to help lead the South’s emergence from its Jim Crow past. Mays spoke of growing up when “lynching was respected by the state and condoned by the church…. I knew segregation and denigration.”

After Mays’ death on March 28, 1984, Carter praised him as 鈥渕y personal friend, my constructive critic, and my close adviser.鈥� Offering one of the eulogies at his funeral, held at Morehouse, Carter described Mays as a 鈥渕onumental figure in the field of education and social justice. He inspired all who knew him.鈥�

At Mays’ funeral, when a speaker asked all the “Morehouse men” to stand, Carter stood with the many other Morehouse degree-holders 鈥� Carter had received an honorary degree from Morehouse in 1972.

“I was proud to stand as one of the Morehouse men,” Carter said in his remarks. “Dr. Mays told me that he was proud a Morehouse man was finally in the White House. He told me, ‘You may be the first, but you won’t be the last.'”

During our annual stint on the Great Day to Be a Bobcat livestream, we shared a few fun and interesting CatFacts with viewers, which we now share with you.

Great Day 2023 was another great success: 2,315 alumni, parents, faculty, staff, students, and friends made gifts this year, far surpassing the donor goal of 1,855 (a number that represents 乐播传媒’ founding year). All told, donors contributed $839,026 to 乐播传媒. 

Mays and Carter

Benjamin Mays, the revered civil rights leader who graduated from 乐播传媒 in 1920, and former President Jimmy Carter were close friends.

Attending the 1985 dedication of the Muskie Archives and receiving an honorary degree, Carter spoke about Mays, saying, “I want to thank this college for making it possible for Dr. Benjamin Mays to overcome the handicaps of white supremacy and racism and to take his place among the prominent leaders of our nation and the world.”

In this circa 1980 photograph, Carter and Mays warmly greet one another.

Play Ball!

This vintage 乐播传媒 baseball glove belonged to Donald C. Webster ’41, a 6-foot-5 Bobcat pitcher who was dubbed a 鈥渓anky portsider鈥� by The 乐播传媒 Student and an 鈥渆longated lefty鈥� by the Bangor Daily News.

Remembering Rand

The first 乐播传媒 baseball field was on the old Rand Field.

‘Fruitful Diversion’

In 1983, when Julia Child (right) received a 乐播传媒 honorary degree, she was praised for creating 鈥渞ecipes for fruitful diversion and happiness among friends.鈥� At center is President Hedley Reynolds; trustee at left is unidentified.

Fantastic Five

The 乐播传媒 field hockey team was undefeated in its first five years of intercollegiate competition, 1967鈥�1971. Its first loss came in November 1972.

The Mirror image below is from 1967, the team’s inaugural season, in which 乐播传媒 defeated the University of Maine鈥揊armington; Gorham State College, now part of the University of Southern Maine; Westbrook College (twice), now part of the University of New England; Colby; and the University of Maine.

乐播传媒 Illustrated

This 乐播传媒鈥揅olby football photo, taken by Daryn Slover for 乐播传媒 College when Garcelon Field was a natural grass (or mud) field, was splashed over two pages in Sports Illustrated on Dec. 6, 2006, for the magazine’s “Football America” issue.

Bette Davis Eyes

Legendary actor Bette Davis鈥� father, Harlow Morrell Davis, was a Phi Beta Kappa graduate of 乐播传媒 in 1907. She didn’t think much of him: 鈥淗e was too bright to enjoy being alive,” she wrote. “His contempt for all of humanity including himself was so great that he abused and neglected himself physically…. He worked himself to death.” The elder Davis died of a heart attack in 1938 at age 52.

We Dig It

In January 1980, 12 乐播传媒 students, led by Nick Kofos ’80, set a Guinness world record by playing volleyball for 71 straight hours in the old Rand Hall gym. From the 1980 Mirror, the photo below shows the games-played total with 16 hours to go.

Nursing School

In 1942, to meet the need for healthcare workers in World War II, 乐播传媒 launched a five-year nursing program. It graduated nearly 100 students before ending in 1958. This nursing cap has the official 乐播传媒 Department of Nursing pin.

Let’s Dance

In 1922, the 乐播传媒 trustees voted to allow students to have campus dances. Campus dancing had been prohibited since the college鈥檚 1855 founding. With the ban lifted, Chase Hall Lounge became the place where 乐播传媒 men and women went cheek to cheek for the first time in public.

In League with Jimi

On March 16, 1968, the 乐播传媒 rock band The Hanseatic League opened for legendary guitarist Jimi Hendrix at the nearby Armory. The photograph of Hendrix below , Also performing that night was the legendary Lewiston garage band Terry and the Telstars. In 1975, Queen performed at the Armory.

In April 1854, a three-masted schooner, the Kate Brigham, set sail from New Orleans loaded with 150 bales of cotton grown by slaves on Southern plantations.

The cotton shipment was one of many destined for Lewiston, Maine, a small but growing mill town where entrepreneur Benjamin 乐播传媒 of Boston and his fellow investors had built their first textile mill two years earlier. In its first year, the mill had netted $33,000 in profit 鈥� putting Benjamin 乐播传媒 on track to become a wealthy man in the years before the Civil War.

乐播传媒 readers know what comes next. Benjamin 乐播传媒 and his business associates, eager to create civic institutions in Lewiston, made financial gifts to a new school founded in 1855 by Oren Cheney, a Freewill Baptist leader and fervent abolitionist. A decade later, Cheney named the school, by then a college, after 乐播传媒, its principal benefactor.

Eager to build civic institutions in the growing town of Lewiston, textile mill owner Benjamin 乐播传媒 and his associates 鈥� wealthy thanks to slave-grown cotton 鈥� made financial gifts to the school that would become 乐播传媒 College.

And from that foundation grew a college that today is rightly and widely known for its inclusive character.

That founding story is familiar, but it’s not the whole story, say 乐播传媒 faculty and students who are now doing academic research to better understand what it means that a Northern college like 乐播传媒 was intertwined at its founding with an American economy fueled by slave labor.

鈥淓veryone says, 鈥樌植ゴ� was founded by abolitionists,鈥欌�� says Perla Figuereo 鈥�21 of the Bronx, N.Y., who was part of a digital humanities course last fall that has begun a long-term, data-driven exploration of 乐播传媒鈥� early financial history. 鈥淏ut no one adds, 鈥榓nd funded by slave cotton.鈥欌��

The founded-by-abolitionists narrative is 鈥渘ot necessarily false, but rather incomplete,鈥� senior history major Ursula Rall of Kent, Ohio, told her audience during a Martin Luther King Jr. Day presentation with fellow senior Emma Soler of Bethesda, Md. 鈥淚t’s important to acknowledge the other part of the founding.鈥�

To be sure, up to the time of the Civil War, there鈥檚 hardly an American institution that 飞补蝉苍鈥檛 supported by the American slave economy.

In this 1860 photograph, African Americans, likely slaves, pick cotton near Montgomery, Ala. (Lakin, J.H., photographer. 186: https://www.loc.gov/item/2012648057)

“Slavery was integral to our nation’s founding, our economy in the North and South, our universities, and our wealth,鈥� says journalist and 乐播传媒 history major Kristen Doerer 鈥�14, who has reported for the Chronicle of Higher Education on how colleges have reckoned with their historical connections to the U.S. slave economy.

“We can鈥檛 kid ourselves and think that because 乐播传媒 is in the North and was founded by abolitionists that it was immune from slavery,鈥� she adds. 鈥淚f we view wealth from cotton and slavery as dirty money, we should know that the dirt is everywhere 鈥� even under abolitionists鈥� fingernails.鈥�

To that point, one day after Rall and Soler鈥檚 MLK Day presentation at 乐播传媒, Maine Public Broadcasting devoted a segment of its Maine Calling program to examining the specifically how various Maine ship captains transported slaves from Africa to North America in the 1800s, even after it was made illegal.

That鈥檚 a barely known fact, says Kate McMahon, a scholar and Maine native who has done extensive research on Maine鈥檚 connection to the slave trade, because Maine has 鈥渧alorized鈥� its maritime tradition over the years while 鈥渕aking the suffering of other people invisible.鈥�

鈥淪lavery was integral to our nation’s founding, our economy in the North and South, our universities, and our wealth,鈥� says journalist and 乐播传媒 history major Kristen Doerer 鈥�14, seen during a campus visit in 2019 when she offered a public talk and met with history students. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/乐播传媒 College)

If we fail to fully appreciate this local history 鈥� such as, she says, the existence of 鈥渂uildings in Portland that were built from funds from selling enslaved people鈥� 鈥� then how do 鈥渨e even begin to understand that we actually live with the legacies of slavery every single day here and now?鈥�

On a larger journalistic scale, there鈥檚 also the ongoing New York Times鈥� 1619 Project, named for the year African slaves first arrived in Virginia. That project seeks to place 鈥渢he consequences of slavery and the contributions of black Americans at the very center of our national narrative.鈥�

The digital humanities course that Perla Figuereo took last fall is taught by Anelise Hanson Shrout, an assistant professor of digital and computational studies. Like her students, Shrout feels the imperative to flesh out the college鈥檚 founding story.

鈥淔or me, as a historian and as a human who lives in Lewiston and works at 乐播传媒, the story is more complicated than 鈥樌植ゴ� has always stood for abolition,鈥�” Shrout says. 鈥淲e have the same foundational American sin baked into our history that much of the U.S. does.鈥�

Perla Figuereo ’21 (center) presents a digital project developed with, to her left, classmate Alya Yousuf ’21 as part of their fall 2019 coursework in “Data Cultures,” taught by Assistant Professor of Digital and Computational Studies Anelise Hanson Shrout. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/乐播传媒 College)

Last fall, Shrout鈥檚 students began painstaking work to review and pull numbers from the college鈥檚 early business ledgers, held by the college鈥檚 Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library. Those ledgers record the donations, large and small, that Cheney took in, including gifts from Benjamin 乐播传媒, who gave approximately $175,000 to the college, equivalent to a few million dollars today.

They also began a review of the many bundles of 乐播传媒 Mill cotton invoices now held by Lewiston Public Library. It is slow work, says Shrout, who anticipates devoting future editions of her course to the project. 鈥淲e鈥檝e only scratched the surface.鈥�

Still, the individual cotton invoices are fascinating. Besides the amount and cost of the cotton shipments, they include dates, ship names, shipping routes, and wholesalers, painting a picture of how antebellum cotton made its way north.

Besides the aforementioned Kate Brigham, another ship that transported cotton to the 乐播传媒 Mill was the Paul Boggs, which ran aground on Cape Cod’s infamous Chatham bar two years later. And still another, the Asa Fish, built in Mystic, Conn., in 1849, also transported African slaves to Cuba.

Shrout says the process of creating meaning from handwritten cotton invoices promises to teach a powerful liberal arts lesson. 鈥淥ne of the questions we鈥檙e asking is, 鈥榃hat does it mean to produce a dataset that represents labor that was violently stolen from people?鈥� How do we do that ethically and thoughtfully?鈥�

Dated June 30, 1854, this invoice for 150 bales of cotton (63,795 pounds), for delivery to the 乐播传媒 Manufacturing Co. and its treasurer, Benjamin 乐播传媒, indicates that the cotton was shipped from New Orleans on the schooner Kate Brigham. (Photograph by Anelise Hanson Shrout)

In today鈥檚 world, 鈥渄ata is thrown around as if it is objective,鈥� Shrout continues. 鈥淲e feed tremendous amounts of data into algorithms that decide what a self-driving car sees as human or how people are policed. But data is always an artifact of some kind of human decision, so at a meta level in this class, I want students to take that away.鈥�

The basic facts of the college鈥檚 founding, both Benjamin 乐播传媒鈥� cotton connection and Oren Cheney鈥檚 abolitionist views, have been well-documented over the years, even as the latter narrative has, until now, received more attention.

In the 1970s, Jim Leamon 鈥�55, then a young history professor and now an emeritus member of the faculty, enlisted students to help him research Lewiston鈥檚 economic history, including Benjamin 乐播传媒鈥� contributions to the city鈥檚 early growth.

Commissioned by the city鈥檚 Historic Commission, Leamon鈥檚 monograph explained as other New England mills suffered: because Benjamin 乐播传媒 gambled on a long war and 鈥渂ought up huge stocks of cotton at 12 cents a pound when the struggle began,鈥� writes Leamon. 鈥淏y 1864 cotton was worth 70 cents, and a year later it was over a dollar a pound.鈥�

The Asa Fish was among the many ships that delivered slave-grown cotton to Benjamin 乐播传媒’ mills in Lewiston before the Civil War. Flying under the American flag, the bark also transported slaves from the west coast of Africa to Cuba.

Thanks to the stockpiled cotton and government war contracts, Lewiston mill profits were 鈥渞emarkable鈥� during the war, Leamon concludes. In sharp contrast, other New England mills sold their stockpiled cotton early in the war for a quick profit, then had to pay exorbitant prices as the supply of Southern cotton dried up. In Lowell, Mass., for example, the era is dubbed 鈥淟owell鈥檚 blunder.鈥�

It is important to note, too, that Benjamin 乐播传媒 was among a group of businessmen who lent their support to the new school, including Francis Skinner, a Boston-based middleman who sold Southern cotton to Benjamin 乐播传媒鈥� mills and who became a college trustee.

鈥淲e hate it 鈥� we abhor it, we loathe it 鈥� we detest and despise it as a giant sin against God, and an awful crime upon man.鈥�

Oren Cheney鈥檚 devotion both to abolitionism and to creating a radically inclusive college have also been well-documented over the years, including by Tim Larson 鈥�05 in his landmark senior honors thesis in history, 鈥淔aith By Their Works.鈥�

Noting that Cheney had operated a branch of the Underground Railroad in Maine prior to founding a new college, Larson quotes Cheney鈥檚 own words on the topic of slavery: 鈥淲e hate it 鈥� we abhor it, we loathe it 鈥� we detest and despise it as a giant sin against God, and an awful crime upon man.鈥�

Larson also notes that, in founding an inclusive college, Cheney was combatting powerful social norms that 鈥渁dvocated for discrimination against women, African Americans, and the poor.鈥� Despite those and other pressures, the college 鈥渉eld its ground鈥� and maintained its inclusive practices.

(In fact, 乐播传媒 College 飞补蝉苍鈥檛 Cheney鈥檚 only handiwork. Well-connected politically thanks to his service in the Maine Legislature, Cheney used his influence to help found another mission-driven school, Storer College, in Harpers Ferry, W. Va., in 1865, which was dedicated to educating freed slaves.)

Still, Larson noted, there was the vexing question, a 鈥渃ontradiction鈥� as he called it, of why an 鈥渁rdent abolitionist鈥� like Cheney would take money from industrialists like Benjamin 乐播传媒, who might be 鈥渁s much to blame as Southern slave owners鈥� for 鈥渁llowing slavery to thrive.鈥� Larson answers the question this way: 鈥淧erhaps this contradiction speaks more to the omnipresence of the slave system in American economy than to Cheney鈥檚 own shortcomings.鈥�

Founder of 乐播传媒 College Oren Cheney, seen in 1873, was a bona fide abolitionist. (Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library)

Fifteen years later, appreciating the urgency with which 乐播传媒 students and faculty have taken up 鈥渢he contradiction鈥� requires some historical context.

In 2003, Brown University started to investigate its direct historical connection to slavery and the transatlantic slave trade. A few years later, scholars and students at Harvard began a similar exploration. And in 2013, historian Craig Steven Wilder published Ebony and Ivy, which broadly explained how all of U.S. higher education in the 18th and 19th centuries, not just a few schools, capitalized in some way on America鈥檚 slave economy.

With Wilder鈥檚 book, explains Joseph Hall, an associate professor of history at 乐播传媒, 鈥淯.S. colleges no longer had to choose鈥� whether to admit to benefiting from slavery. 鈥淲ilder demonstrated that everyone was involved, whether you liked it or not.鈥�

In addition, a new generation of scholars, including Wilder, from groups previously underrepresented in academe, including women and African Americans, are now asking new questions about American history, often through the lenses of colonialism (the subjugation of one people by and for the benefit of other people), white supremacy, and racism.

鈥淧eople are asking different kinds of questions,鈥� says Hall. 鈥淎nd different people are involved in asking those questions.鈥�

In the early 2000s at 乐播传媒, questions about the college鈥檚 historical connection to the American slave economy were cropping up in and around 乐播传媒 classrooms, prompted by faculty in the history department and the Africana program, including professors Sue Houchins and now-retired Margaret Creighton. (Discussions in her classroom, in part, led to Larson鈥檚 乐播传媒-focused thesis.)

In recent years, faculty and students began to move the topic front and center in their academic work, spurred in part by national events, including publication of Ebony and Ivy, racial violence in Ferguson, and the subsequent emergence of Black Lives Matter. At the same time, 乐播传媒 was using its convening power to showcase a string of prominent speakers on race and equity in America, including Wilder himself, who spoke at 乐播传媒 in January 2017.

An audience fills a Dana Chemistry Hall classroom on Martin Luther King Jr. Day to hear Emma Soler 鈥�20 and Ursula Rall 鈥�20 lead a discussion about the college’s dual founding narratives: founded by abolitionists and funded initially by Benjamin 乐播传媒, a textile manufacturer who derived wealth from slave-grown cotton. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/乐播传媒 College)

That September, members of the 乐播传媒 faculty raised the issue during a discussion in a packed Pettengill Hall classroom, held to help students understand issues of white supremacy and Confederate monuments in the wake of in Charlottesville, Va.

Noting how Benjamin 乐播传媒 profited from slave-grown cotton, Assistant Professor of History Andrew Baker pointed out that while it鈥檚 meaningful to remove Confederate monuments in the South, we need to look at history closer to home. Racial problems don鈥檛 somehow 鈥渂elong to a different time,鈥� Baker said. 鈥淚t鈥檚 always been a part of America itself, and so that touches all of us.鈥�

From the classroom to the public lectern, Joe Hall has lent his academic voice to the topic in recent years. He recalls how, more than a decade ago and after Larson did his thesis, he began to mention the college鈥檚 connection to slave-grown cotton as a 鈥渢hrowaway line鈥� in one of his classes, such as 鈥淎frican Slavery in the Americas.鈥� He says, 鈥淚 remember a student telling me, 鈥業 never thought about that before.鈥� It鈥檚 been kind of an itch鈥� ever since.

From the classroom and the lectern, Associate Professor of History Joe Hall in recent years has invited the 乐播传媒 community to consider the meaning of its founding connection to the American slave economy. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/乐播传媒 College)

In spring 2018, Hall introduced the topic in a 鈥渕aster class鈥� that he led during a campus Admitted Students Reception, when 乐播传媒 rolls out the garnet carpet for new admits. After briefing the students on the basic facts, he asked, 鈥淲hat鈥檚 missing from the story about Oren Cheney and Benjamin 乐播传媒?鈥� One of the students replied, 鈥淭here鈥檚 no African American history here.鈥�

Hall says, 鈥淭hat was great, because he was absolutely right.鈥�

And that September, Hall, speaking to the incoming Class of 2022 during Opening Convocation, used his address, 鈥淨uestions for 乐播传媒,鈥� to explore at some length the apparent contradictions of 乐播传媒鈥� founding.

For the past two semesters, Hall has devoted one of the department鈥檚 signature courses, 鈥淗istorical Methods,鈥� an upper-level seminar that prepares majors for thesis work, to the question of 乐播传媒鈥� founding. During the course, he has guided students into the college鈥檚 Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library and downtown to Lewiston Public Library.

In February 2019, students in Associate Professor of History Joe Hall’s historical methods class pore over historical documents related to 乐播传媒’ founding in Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library. From left, Eric Opoku, Benni McComish, Zach Jonas, Andrew Faciano, and Ke’ala Brosseau. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/乐播传媒 College)

From Hall鈥檚 perspective as a teacher and scholar, probing questions about 乐播传媒鈥� founding are what a liberal arts education is all about: appreciating complexity, knowing that there鈥檚 more than meets the eye, and being on the lookout for unintended consequences.

鈥淭he good in the world, even the good found in a place like 乐播传媒 College, does not come without a cost,鈥� he says. 鈥淚n the case of 乐播传媒鈥� founding, it was a tremendous cost in human lives.鈥� And it鈥檚 powerful, he adds, that his students are learning these lessons in a 乐播传媒 framework. 鈥淭here鈥檚 immediacy. They can see the relevance of it because they care about 乐播传媒.鈥�

Ke鈥檃la Brosseau 鈥�20 of South Burlington, Vt., was in Hall鈥檚 methods course last year. With several classmates, she made a presentation at the annual Mount David Summit that looked at how 乐播传媒, as an institution, has foregrounded its abolitionist founding narrative over the years.

When an institution emphasizes one narrative, it鈥檚 like putting on blinders. 鈥淵ou don鈥檛 recognize the imbalances of power,鈥� she says, that have muted other voices over time, including, in the case of 乐播传媒鈥� founding, humans imprisoned by slavery. Furthermore, she adds, 鈥淚t鈥檚 hard to recognize inequality today when we don’t confront things that have happened in our past.鈥�

鈥淚t鈥檚 hard to recognize inequality today when we don’t confront things that have happened in our past,” says history major Ke’ala Brosseau ’20 of South Burlington, Vt. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/乐播传媒 College)

To be sure, it will take time and effort to discover, let alone amplify, the voices of people who grew the cotton that created the wealth leading to the college’s founding.

For her senior honors thesis, Emma Soler initially hoped to 鈥減ut a human face鈥� on the cotton trade by tracing cotton that Benjamin 乐播传媒 used in Lewiston back to specific Southern plantations, and perhaps to specific individuals.

In the limited time of a senior thesis project, that goal proved unattainable. Indeed, Hall imagines that the search for cotton clues might someday extend to century-old dissertations on the cotton trade housed in Southern universities. 鈥淚t will take some bibliographic digging,鈥� he says.

So Soler has pivoted to a broader analysis, looking at 乐播传媒’ founding in the context of the U.S. slave economy as well as campus discourse around the issue, contemporary campus culture, and reparations movements.

Emma Soler ’20 is using her honors history thesis to explore how college’s founding narratives affect the college today. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/乐播传媒 College)

She’s asking questions such as, 鈥淗ow do we talk about this history on campus? What is the consensus about talking about this history in a different way? Do people think it鈥檚 impacting their experience here?鈥� And, if so, 鈥減ositively or negatively?鈥�

From her perspective as an interested alumna, Kristen Doerer sees value in 乐播传媒 faculty and students continuing their exploration of the college鈥檚 founding connection to the American slave economy.

鈥淚t says that this institution isn鈥檛 afraid to take on hard topics and study, examine, and discuss them.鈥�

Here are a few items from the Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library.

Life聽on the Trail

When in 1941, famed documentary photographer Eliot Elisofon, assisted by Joe Reshower de Casseres, further documented the experience by adding their names and a few doodles to this tree conk.

One of Elisofon鈥檚 photos in the Oct. 13, 1941, issue of Life聽shows 乐播传媒 Outing Club members descending Saddleback Mountain. The conk was given to 乐播传媒 by the late BOCer Gilbert Center 鈥�43.

Mike Bradley/乐播传媒 College

Pipe Up

In the early 20th century, more than a few colleges engaged in this act of cultural appropriation.

At 乐播传媒, Class Day activities included the seniors taking a puff from a 鈥減eace pipe鈥� like this one from the Archives.

The pipe-smoking was preceded by the Pipe Oration, which in 1911 offered the hope that the pipe smoke would carry away 鈥渁ll things that tend to separate us and disunite us鈥� 鈥� leaving behind friendship among classmates and loyalty to 乐播传媒.

Graduating 乐播传媒 seniors engage in the Class Day peace-pipe ritual in 1946. (Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library)

This peace pipe from the early 1900s was used during Class Day ceremonies. (Michael Bradley/乐播传媒 College)

Let’s Play Two

From 1968 to 1970, 乐播传媒 had two Commencements each year. The first was in April for traditional four-year grads, and the second was in June or even July for graduates of the college’s new three-year option. This photo shows the April 1969 edition.

Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library

To make the three-year option viable, the college added a third academic term, which became Short Term, which lives on to this day. The three-year plan also lives on, but as a rarely chosen option.

When new President Hedley Reynolds returned to a single-Commencement format in 1971,聽 Lewiston Sun Journal聽hailed the change in its lead editorial, calling the change “preferable to the confusing, double Commencements.”

Banding Together

This cornet belonged to Levi W. Ballard, organizer of various Lewiston-Auburn musical groups, including the Maine State Seminary Band in 1861.

For years, Ballard furnished music for schools and college commencement exercises throughout Maine.

Michael Bradley/乐播传媒 College

Worth the Weight

乐播传媒鈥� 6-0 football win over Bowdoin on Oct. 29, 1898, was worthy of this illustrated commemorative paperweight.

Why not, since The 乐播传媒 Student called it “universally admitted to be the greatest contest ever played between Maine colleges”? (With Garcelon Field not yet completed, the 1898 game was played at a downtown Lewiston park.)

The scene shows William A. Saunders, Class of 1899, carrying the ball over the goal line. The caption reads, “The play that won the game.”

Michael Bradley/乐播传媒 College

Saunders, who was African American, later taught at Storer College, an institution established with the help of 乐播传媒 founder Oren Cheney.

He’s standing, second from right, in the 1898 team photo below.

The 乐播传媒 Student, November 1898

Only a Mother Could Love…

A stuffed bobcat with muttonchops.

Michael Bradley/乐播传媒 College

Puckish Behavior

This inscribed puck (part of a collection of historical sports items in Alumni Gymnasium) reflects a 3鈥�0 win for 乐播传媒 hockey vs. a team representing the Cabot Mill in Brunswick. (Jay Burns/乐播传媒 College)

He-Mail

George Faunce had the 乐播传媒 mail route. (Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library)

Pinterest

A 乐播传媒 Class of 1916 pin. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/乐播传媒 College)

Citizen 乐播传媒

The Freedoms Foundation awarded this medal to 乐播传媒 for its work to make citizenship education part of the curriculum. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/乐播传媒 College)

Here are a few items from the Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library, elsewhere on campus 鈥� and beyond.

Key to Art

The slideshow below shows (1) the ceremonial key that was (2) given by Olin Foundation President Lawrence Miles (left) to Robert Kinney 鈥�39, then-chair of the 乐播传媒 Board of Trustees, at the October 1986 dedication of the Olin Arts Center.

Phyllis Graber Jensen/乐播传媒 College

Olin Foundation President Lawrence Miles (left) presents a ceremonial key to Robert Kinney 鈥�39, then-chair of the 乐播传媒 Board of Trustees, at the October 1986 dedication of the Olin Arts Center. (Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library)

‘A Little Dab’ll Do Ya’

This photo of an unidentified Chase Hall barber is undated, but his hair-care products 鈥� Brylcreem, Trol, West Point, and Wildroot 鈥� suggest it鈥檚 the slick 1950s.

Pratt鈥檚 Parasol

The slideshow below shows (1) the parasol that Jennie Anderson Pratt carried when (2) she marched in Reunion Alumni Parades with her Class of 1890.

The Class of 1890 joins the Alumni Parade at a 乐播传媒 Reunion, date unknown.(Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library)

Phyllis Graber Jensen/乐播传媒 College

Tied to Be Fit

The mid-1900s 鈥渇reshman rules鈥� required first-year men to wear green bow ties and garnet-and-black beanies until Thanksgiving. (Women had to wear bibs.) The late Keith Wilbur 鈥�45 wore this tie.

Five-Color Flag

This is a detail of a Chinese flag given to 乐播传媒 by Wayne Jordan, Class of 1906. A much-admired alumnus, Jordan was 乐播传媒鈥� first Rhodes Scholar. He did YMCA work in China as a foreign secretary, including famine relief, from 1914 until his death, of typhus, in 1924.

The flag鈥檚 five-color design was China鈥檚 first as a republic in 1912.

Sailor Man

This iconic 鈥淒ixie Cup鈥� sailor鈥檚 cap belonged to the late Philip Isaacson 鈥�47 when he was stationed at 乐播传媒 with the Navy鈥檚 V-12 officer training program.

Dishing It

The Boston 乐播传媒 Alumnae Club commissioned 乐播传媒鈥� first Wedgwood plate in 1939 to celebrate 75 years since 乐播传媒 became a college.

As the Democratic National Convention ended on Aug. 29, 1968, and the presidential campaign kicked off, many believed that the Democratic ticket 鈥� Hubert Humphrey running for president and U.S. Sen. Edmund Muskie 鈥�36 of Maine for vice president 鈥� was dead on arrival.

鈥淲e were supposed to lose,鈥� says Don Nicoll, Muskie鈥檚 campaign manager.

But no one figured on Muskie.

Through the late summer and early fall of 1968, a span of just a few weeks, Muskie delivered a dazzling performance that nearly turned the tables on presidential frontrunner Richard Nixon, who would win the election by less than 1 percent of the popular vote.

That was the conclusion of a Nov. 29 panel discussion at 乐播传媒 celebrating the 50th anniversary of Muskie鈥檚 vice presidential campaign.

In early September 1968, the Democrats were in dire straits. The first polls had Republicans Nixon and running mate Spiro Agnew leading the Democrats, 43 percent to 28 percent.

As President Lyndon Johnson’s vice president, Humphrey had inherited some of his polling problems: Johnson was so unpopular due to the Vietnam War that he鈥檇 declined to run for a second term.

Muskie ran one of the 鈥渆xemplary national campaigns of modern times.鈥�

The Democrats also were fighting a rearguard action against independent George Wallace of Alabama. Polling at 18 percent, Wallace was courting blue-collar voters with his populist and racist rhetoric.

The Democratic ticket looked doomed.

Democratic vice presidential candidate Edmund Muskie ’36 speaks to supporters in Kennedy Park in Lewiston on Nov. 3, 1968, two days before the election. (Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library)

But the Democrats closed the gap, with Muskie running one of the 鈥渆xemplary national campaigns of modern times,鈥� said Muskie scholar Joel Goldstein during the discussion at the Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library.

+Panelists for the 1968 Muskie Campaign Event

鈥淗e outperformed not only the other candidates for national office that year but virtually every other national candidate in my lifetime and, I suspect, in most lifetimes.鈥�

Here are eight takeaways from the panel, which featured former Muskie staffers and confidants聽as well as Goldstein.

1. On the campaign trail, Muskie was more a preacher, less a debater.

Muskie is often framed as a fierce rhetorical combatant. And why not: He was a great debater at 乐播传媒 and a legend in the U.S. Senate.

鈥淭he Muskie legend is that he was a great debater who had a superb legal mind. He was and he did,鈥� said Eliot Cutler, an assistant press secretary during the campaign who was on Muskie鈥檚 Senate staff for six years. 鈥淏ut a political campaign is more about the pulpit than the rostrum.鈥�

Edmund Muskie ’36 and supporters at a 1968 campaign event. The location is perhaps New York City; third from left is perhaps Shirley Chisholm, then running for her first term as a Congresswoman. (Burton Burinsky / Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library)

Watching and hearing Muskie connect with voters in 1968 鈥� 鈥渋n Polish halls, on college campuses, with organized labor, and liberals disaffected by the Vietnam War and Lyndon Johnson 鈥� was an extraordinary experience. And that was all about his values, vision, and voice.鈥�

In 1968, 鈥淢uskie 飞补蝉苍鈥檛 a dater reaching into voters鈥� heads, but rather a preacher touching their hearts and stoking their souls,鈥� said Cutler. 鈥淗e was the best preacher ever.鈥�

2. He would not dog-whistle or play to fear.

In a series of events in early October, Muskie spoke to blue-collar Democrats in Chicago, Camden, N.J., Philadelphia, and Yonkers who were slipping away from the party.

Once part of the Roosevelt鈥檚 New Deal coalition, these older voters were now 鈥渢empted by the Wallace candidacy,鈥� said Goldstein, which was 鈥渇anning resentment about racial policies” of the Johnson administration and the decisions of the Supreme Court under Earl Warren.

Supporters of Hubert Humphrey and Edmund Muskie ’36 greet Muskie on a campaign stop in Wichita Falls, Texas, on Oct. 29, 1968. (Jimmy Cochran / University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Midwestern State University)

Speaking to these voters, Muskie talked about his father, Stephen Marciszewski, a Polish immigrant who became a tailor in Rumford in the early 1900s.

鈥淢y father did not come here looking for fear,鈥� Muskie would say. 鈥淗e came here to escape fear and to find freedom. He did not come here looking for hatred. He came here to escape it and to find freedom.

“He did not come here seeking to deny other people opportunity. He came here to find it for himself, thinking it was available to all people who lived in America. He came here believing that freedom here was freedom for everyone.鈥�

3. He looked and sounded the part.

Cutler called Muskie鈥檚 voice 鈥渟onorous with an extraordinary, remarkable range.鈥�

鈥淚 see a lot of young people here today. All you know about Ed Muskie is what you鈥檝e read in books,鈥� said Harold Pachios, who supervised advance operations for the Muskie campaign in 1968. 鈥淵ou see him up there above the mantel,” pointing to Muskie’s portrait in the archives.

鈥淗e was impressive looking and highly intelligent,鈥� said Pachios, who later became a prominent Maine lawyer. 鈥淏ut, oh, could he speak. Could he speak! He had the voice, a wonderful voice. He had impeccable timing, a cadence, a remarkable gift of cadence. He was rational, honest, and a solid human being.鈥�

This is an edited version of Muskie’s powerful speech accepting the vice presidential nomination at the Democratic National Convention on Aug. 28, 1968.

Indeed, Muskie’s acceptance speech at the 1968 Democratic National Convention was a tour de force.

Making American society work, he said, “is not easy….It means learning to live with, to understand, and respect many different kinds of human beings…and accept them all as equals. It means learning to trust each other, to work with each other, to think of each other as neighbors.”

4. He had something to say.

Muskie 鈥渃rept into the consciousness of the American electorate鈥� in 1968, said Cutler.

And that was a 鈥渃onsequence of what I call the 鈥榦pen-mic鈥� character of American democracy,鈥� he said. 鈥淚f you have something to say and can connect with the American people, you can become a powerful and significant voice. And you don鈥檛 have to be loud and bombastic. Muskie demonstrated that in 1968.鈥�

5. He bridged the gap between dissent and disloyalty.

The violence outside the Democratic National Convention in Chicago left some Americans bewildered and wary of the anti-war protests, said Goldstein. Nixon and Wallace pounced, telling Americans to equate protest with disloyalty. 鈥淎merica: love it or leave it,鈥� was their refrain.

Muskie, however, didn鈥檛 let the older generation off the hook. Speaking to 鈥渇at-cat groups,鈥� the 鈥淏rie and Chablis crowd,鈥� Muskie would say that the protesters 鈥渉ave honest doubts about the American system, which often closed doors to the disadvantaged.鈥�

Indeed, 鈥渕any of the inequities are your fault and mine,鈥� Muskie said, imploring his audiences to listen seriously to the critiques and to encourage meaningful participation by the young to improve America.

He 飞补蝉苍鈥檛 letting the protesters off the hook, either.

This pin for the Humphrey-Muskie campaign has the phrase “Sock It To ‘Em,” probably a reference to Richard Nixon’s appearance on the TV show Laugh In, in which he delivered one of the show’s trademark lines, “Sock it to me.” (Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library)

To audiences of mostly high school students, he would remind them that while 鈥測ou are privileged to kick the government around,鈥� with that privilege comes 鈥渢he duty and responsibility of using your head, your heart, your capacity for understanding to do what is best for everyone concerned.鈥�

So when asked by college students if he supported the emergent idea of an all-volunteer Army in lieu of the draft (which Nixon was promising), Muskie didn鈥檛 pander.

While a volunteer Army might satisfy the self-interests of privileged, mostly white college students, it 飞补蝉苍鈥檛 fair. Muskie supported a program of national service supported by a lottery to spread the obligation of service more equitably through society.

6. When Muskie did debate, he used his 乐播传媒 education.

Muskie learned to debate from Brooks Quimby, Class of 1918. The namesake of the Quimby Debate Council, Quimby was a speech and rhetoric professor from 1927 to 1967.

Quimby taught his debaters to persuade an audience, not to defeat an opponent.

Rhetoric and speech professor Brooks Quimby, Class of 1918, reads The 乐播传媒 Student in February 1955. (Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library)

“Persuasion: This was the key to Ed Muskie,” said Nicoll, the ’68 campaign manager. “A political campaign isn’t about beating an opponent. It’s about persuasion. That was the way he operated, and he learned it right here under Brooks Quimby.”

Persuasion means putting the audience first. Under Quimby, 乐播传媒 took a 鈥渓eading roll in the effort to…diminish the perception of intercollegiate debate where 鈥榳inning is everything and the audience is nothing,鈥欌�� wrote Robert Branham in Stanton鈥檚 Elm, a history of 乐播传媒 debate.

7. He was willing and able to connect with anyone willing to listen.

On Sept. 25, in Washington, Pa., Muskie famously invited a college-student heckler to join him on stage.

Like other young Democrats, the hecklers that day were angry that the party 鈥� and its candidates 鈥� weren鈥檛 aggressively opposing the Vietnam War.

As the hecklers taunted Muskie, the candidate asked them to give him a chance to tell his story. 鈥淵ou have a chance. We don鈥檛,鈥� one reportedly yelled.

As Edmund Muskie ’36 addresses the audience in Washington, Pa., college student Rick Brody (left), invited to speak by Muskie, prepares for his turn at the lectern. (Mel Chemowitz/Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library)

Muskie told the protesters to send one of their own to the stage to state his position. The ensuing discussion 鈥� with Muskie insisting that the otherwise partisan audience respect the student, Rick Brody 鈥� was reported nationally on television and in print.

The moment was both 鈥渁 campaign metaphor鈥� and an 鈥渁pplication of a commitment to and practice of civil discourse that defined Muskie鈥檚 public service,鈥� said Goldstein, where 鈥渋nformation and ideas were tools of civil discourse, and civil discourse was the indispensible instrument of democracy and constitutional government.鈥�

As Muskie would often say, 鈥淚t鈥檚 better to discuss a question without settling it than settle a question without discussing it.鈥�

8. Muskie was allowed to be 鈥� nay, demanded to be 鈥� Muskie.

Authenticity is prized in many spheres of American culture, but rarely in political campaigns. Yet in 1968, Muskie was able to be 鈥渉is own man,鈥� recalled Jane Fenderson Cabot, a campaign intern and later a member of Muskie鈥檚 Senate staff. In fact, he demanded it. 鈥淗e didn鈥檛 want to be 鈥榖ent out of shape.鈥� I remember hearing that a lot.鈥�

鈥淗e told listeners what he thought, not what they wanted to hear,鈥� said Goldstein, the Vincent C. Immel Professor of Law at St. Louis University School of Law.

Edmund Muskie ’36 listens to a speech during a campaign visit to Wichita Falls, Texas, on Oct. 29, 1968. (Jimmy W. Cochran / University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Midwestern State University)

鈥淗e told the older generation that they鈥檇 screwed up society and should listen to their scruffy kids. He told the scruffy kids to be constructive and responsible.鈥�

The press took notice. 鈥淢uskie is revealing himself by simply being himself 鈥� nothing more and nothing different,鈥� wrote syndicated columnist Roscoe Drummond in October. 鈥淗e doesn鈥檛 have to think of what is prudent to say…. He speaks his convictions 鈥� because he just can鈥檛 do otherwise.鈥�

Here are a few items from the Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library and elsewhere on campus聽鈥� and beyond.

Ode to a Hot Dog

In 1938, while on a 鈥渟plurge鈥� with Wilson House friends at Jimmy鈥檚 Diner in downtown Auburn, the late Muriel Swicker 鈥�42 penned this ode on a napkin about the delights of a 30-cent hotdog.

Swicker, who passed away in 2008, placed the napkin in her freshman-year scrapbook, where we found it recently after the scrapbook was donated to 乐播传媒.

“Ode to a Hotdog,” from a freshman-year scrapbook of Muriel Swicker ’42.

Ode to a Hotdog

Oh Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy
Oh, luscious cytoplasm
We sink our teeth
in thy cell walls

Ever on thee spread
Shovelfuls of goooo
Oh crispy greasy cloak
Draped upon thy sides.
Yum 鈥� My God!

Below, listen to one of Muriel’s 乐播传媒 chums, the late Virginia Day Hayden ’42, recite the poem (from memory!) in 2012 at Reunion:

A postcard view of Jimmy’s Diner at 150 Minot Ave. in Auburn, probably from the early 1960s. The location most recently has been home to a trading post.

Skull Session

This sketch of a cat skull by Cecelia Christensen, Class of 1919, is displayed in the lobby of Carnegie Science Hall.

Past and present, 鈥渟tudents grapple with the spatial component of knowledge,鈥� says Don Dearborn, chair of the biology department. 鈥淭ransforming something you see, or know to exist, into another form, whether a drawing or a computer image, is a powerful tool for learning.鈥�

Riders Up

In the 1930s, riding was among the many offerings of the Women鈥檚 Athletic Association. The 乐播传媒 women鈥檚 athletics motto 鈥� 鈥渁 sport for every girl and every girl in a sport鈥� 鈥� reflected the national reaction to the era鈥檚 professionalized and exclusive sports culture.

The older gentleman at left likely worked for the stable that provided the horses for this 乐播传媒 excursion. (Photo courtesy of the Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library)

Pete’s Prize

Meredith 鈥淧ete鈥� Burrill, Class of 1925, won the Garcelon Cup for hurdles in 1922. Then Burrill took another leap forward, becoming a .

Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library

Since 1984, when he started what has become The Cook Political Report, political analyst Charlie Cook has watched nine presidential election cycles and nine midterm cycles.

In 鈥渆very single one,鈥� he told a 乐播传媒 audience on Sept. 11, 鈥淚 heard someone say, 鈥楾his is the most important election since Moby Dick was a guppy.鈥欌��

But this year, in a political landscape where people are more divided than ever, that鈥檚 actually true. 鈥淭his is a heckuva midterm election,鈥� he said.

Cook, whose nonpartisan political reports are respected by journalists and people in politics across the ideological spectrum, offered comments during a 乐播传媒 visit sponsored by the Department of Politics.

At a talk at the Muskie Archives on Sept. 11, political analyst Charlie Cook discussed the 2016 presidential elections and the upcoming 2018 midterms. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/乐播传媒 College)

The talk ranged widely, from Cook鈥檚 explanation of why Donald Trump won the 2016 presidential election (a combination of mistakes by Hillary Clinton鈥檚 campaign, intensity on the Republican side and a lack thereof on the Democratic side, and polling in three states that was slightly off) to how he met U.S. Sen. Edmund Muskie 鈥�36: while working as an elevator operator (鈥淚 learned politics from the ground up,鈥� Cook joked.)

The core of his talk, however, was the upcoming midterms, where 鈥渢here鈥檚 a whole lot on the line,鈥� he said. Republicans hold majorities in both houses of Congress, plus 33 governorships and majorities in many state legislatures.

鈥淭his is a heckuva midterm election.鈥�

Because Republicans hold so many offices, it follows that more of their offices are up for grabs on Nov. 6 鈥� and Democrats are mounting strong challenges, he said.聽That鈥檚 in a national environment where partisan, racial, gender, geographic, and religious divides seem sharper than ever, Cook said.

鈥淚 like to characterize this election as what looks like a Democratic tidal wave up against a Republican seawall,鈥� he said. 鈥淭he question is, which is going to be stronger 鈥� the Democratic wave, or the Republican wall?鈥�

Cook gave Democrats a 70 percent chance of getting a majority in the U.S. House. Here鈥檚 what drives that Democratic 鈥渨ave鈥�:

Historical patterns: Waves are like clockwork, Cook said. In 38 midterm elections since the Civil War, the party of the sitting president lost seats in the House of Representatives. In 26 midterm elections since U.S. senators have been directly elected, the party in the White House has lost seats in 19. Similar patterns exist for state governorships and state legislatures.

Why? People who are satisfied with the outcome of a presidential election cycle are less likely to vote to change the status quo, while people who are dissatisfied are more likely to vote.

Democrats might win big in 2018 for three reasons, political analyst Charlie Cook said: There tends to be a wave of opposition in midterm years, President Donald Trump’s job approval rating is under 50 percent, and Democrats have done well in elections since 2016. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/乐播传媒 College)

In the runup to the two Obama-era midterm elections, in 2010 and 2014, 鈥渨ho was madder than hell?鈥� Cook said. 鈥淚t was tea party people. It was conservatives. It was Republicans.鈥� The result: GOP majorities in both houses.

鈥淲ell, who’s madder than hell right now?鈥� Democrats and progressives, he said.

That means Democrats are likelier to win against Republican incumbents. One of those competitive races is right in Maine鈥檚 2nd Congressional District, where Jared Golden 鈥�11 is challenging GOP incumbent Bruce Poliquin. That race is聽鈥渞eally, really, really close,鈥� Cook told Steve Collins of the Lewiston聽Sun Journal.

Job approval: The president鈥檚 job approval rating is a 鈥渂arometer鈥� for his party鈥檚 prospects in the midterms, Cook said. Since 1986, if polls have shown that more than 50 percent of people think he鈥檚 doing a good job, his party won鈥檛 lose many midterm seats. If the rating鈥檚 below 50 percent, though, the party loses an average of 40 House seats and seven Senate seats.

Trump鈥檚 approval ratings have hovered around 40 to 45 percent the entire time he鈥檚 been in office 鈥� he didn鈥檛 get the typical beginning-of-term bump, and neither positive nor negative news about him has moved the barometer much, Cook said.

鈥淲ho’s madder than hell right now?鈥�

What鈥檚 more, those who dislike Trump鈥檚 job performance tend to dislike it strongly, which makes 聽Democrats, liberals, and Clinton voters more enthusiastic about the election than Republicans 鈥� and more likely to vote.

A variety of polls are 鈥減ointing towards more intensity, more energy, more passion on the Democratic side, just as it showed more for the Republican side back during the two Obama midterm elections,鈥� Cook said.

Election results since 2016: Democrats have won several elections since 2016, from an open Senate seat in Alabama to governorships in Virginia and New Jersey.

Cook, however, said those elections don鈥檛 necessarily indicate larger trends. Roy Moore, the Republican candidate for Senate in Alabama, was 鈥渞adioactive,鈥� he said. In New Jersey, Gov. Chris Christie had such low approval that his lieutenant governor, Kim Guadagno, would never have won a bid to replace him.

In fact, Republicans won many of the special elections that took place around the country. Still, Democrats were getting more votes proportionally than Hillary Clinton did in the 2016 presidential race, Cook said 鈥� meaning they will do well in widespread elections in November.

But as good as things look for Democrats, they鈥檒l face a significant defense from the GOP, Cook said, so much so that he gives Republicans a 65 percent chance they鈥檒l keep their majority in the U.S. Senate. Here鈥檚 what makes up the Republican 鈥渨all鈥�:

Congressional districts: Every 10 years, after the national census, states can redraw their congressional districts. In 2010, after winning many governorships and control of state legislatures, Republican-controlled legislatures in many states redrew districts along lines more favorable to GOP candidates.

Sophie Dunn ’22 of Norwich, Vt., asks a question following a talk on the 2018 midterm elections by political analyst Charlie Cook. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/乐播传媒 College)

鈥淭hey did to Democrats what Democrats had done to Republicans in a whole bunch of states,鈥� Cook said.

Population patterns: 鈥淥nce a party wins a district by one vote, every vote you get above that point is wasted,鈥� Cook said.

Democrats tend to be concentrated in cities and college towns while Republicans are more spread out across congressional districts 鈥� and across more districts. As a result, Republicans have the opportunity to win more districts, and winning a majority in the House would be harder for the Democrats.

The Senate map: In 2006 and 2012, Cook said, Democrats gained many Senate seats. Now, their six-year terms are up, which means that those Democrats now up for re-election are vulnerable to Republican challengers.

So even though the GOP holds only a narrow majority in the Senate (51 to 49), the Democrats stand to lose more, Cook said. What鈥檚 more, the Democrat-held seats up for election are in states Trump won in 2016, in some cases by a significant margin, making Democratic incumbents less likely to win.

鈥淚s it going to be a bad night, or a really bad night, or a really, really bad night?鈥�

Still, you can鈥檛 discount the groundswell of support for Democrats. 鈥淚 can’t tell you for sure which side is going to gain even one seat, because the map is so overwhelmingly red Republican, but the wave is so blue Democratic,鈥� Cook said.

So how high will the blue wave go? Hard to say, Cook said. But whoever ends up with majorities in federal and state legislatures, 鈥淩epublicans are going to lose a whole bunch,鈥� he said. 鈥淭hey could lose between five and nine governorships around the country. They could lose 400 or 500 state legislative seats around the country. This is going to be an ugly year for them.

鈥淭he question is, is it going to be a bad night, or a really bad night, or a really, really bad night?鈥�